


illumine

by miastree



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Waltzing, nursey is such a poet i stg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miastree/pseuds/miastree
Summary: It’s more like the way that Dex looks when the sun sets and casts orange light through the Haus kitchen windows, how the light threads itself through Dex’s red hair and sets it on fire. It makes Nursey’s chest throb, and Nursey knows exactly what that means.





	illumine

**Author's Note:**

> mia, shouldn’t you be working on the story of ines and jia? yes. leave me be
> 
> i wrote this in two hours because i feel weird, which helps because you know what else is weird? nursey and dex. they’re weird and in love
> 
> tw for alcohol consumption. nothing bad, just normal kegster stuff. also a couple of swears, these boys have potty mouths. enjoy!

Dex is difficult to work out.

Nursey assumes it’s because he keeps himself so closed off from everything and everyone. Nursey has known him for a while now, and he can still count the things he knows about Dex on one hand. The things he _really_ knows.

There’s the basics, of course. He knows Dex is mathsy, good at science and computers and code. He’s good at hockey, obviously. He gets angry and frustrated easily. He phones his family every other day. He has very pretty eyes.

It’s not like he’s going to force Dex to open up, or anything. That’s not fair, and plus, if Dex wanted to tell him anything, he would have. It isn’t that, though.

It’s more like the way that Dex looks when the sun sets and casts orange light through the Haus kitchen windows, how the light threads itself through Dex’s red hair and sets it on fire. It makes Nursey’s chest throb, and Nursey knows exactly what that means.

But is it even justified? Nursey knows Dex is attractive, but when Dex is such a mystery, it’s difficult to know how to feel.

His freckles do remind him of autumn, though.

 

* * *

 

Bitty enlists their help with one of his new pie conquests, sitting them down at the kitchen table and barking orders. Nursey doesn’t mind - the sun is throwing that same orange glow through the windows and Dex is sitting across from him. He could do this all day.

“I wish I could cook properly,” Nursey mumbles under his breath, just thinking aloud. “I always burn stuff.”

Dex huffs a laugh and Nursey looks up in surprise. He didn’t even realise Dex was listening.

“I like cooking,” Dex says softly, like he’s unsure about what he’s sharing. He keeps his eyes trained on where he’s cutting strawberries.

Nursey smiles, unsure on how to get him to keep talking. “You do?”

He’s convinced Dex won’t elaborate - he never does - but there must be something about the hazy warmth of the kitchen and the fading sunlight outside, because Dex nods. “My parents were never good cooks, but my sister loves to bake,” he says, rambly and quiet, but audible. “She got me roped in, and I learnt a lot. It’s fun, if you practice.”

“Huh,” Nursey replies dumbly. He isn’t sure how to react to the information dump. “You’ll have to cook something for me sometime.”

Dex snorts. Nursey watches the grin spread over his face, making his freckles more obvious. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever top Bitty’s cooking.”

Nursey smiles back at him. “I guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

A few days later, when Dex, at dinner, sets down in front of him the most appetising-looking meskouta he’s ever seen, Nursey feels his face flush with excitement and appreciation.

“It looks amazing,” Nursey gushes.

He watches the blush rise up Dex’s cheeks, and relishes the bashful smile sent his way.

“How come Nursey gets cake?” Ransom asks, with a perfectly practiced pout. “I want cake.”

Dex shrugs. If Nursey is honest, he’s not entirely sure what the answer to that question is, either. It’s not like Dex is quick to hand out random favours. “He asked, I guess,” Dex says.

Ransom perks up, clearly hopeful. “What if I ask?”

“I don’t know,” Dex grins, and _fuck_ , Nursey likes that expression. “Try it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you have to do that?”

Nursey looks over the top of his book to see Dex looking at him with cinched eyebrows. A year ago, the sight of that slight frown would have set Nursey off rolling his eyes and scoffing in annoyance, but today Nursey only raises an eyebrow.

“Do what?” is his reply.

Dex nods towards him. “Click your pen. It’s really loud and annoying.”

Nursey glances at the pen in his hand, the one he’s been using to take notes absently in the margins. He likes doing that with his books. It makes them feel more personal.

“I didn’t even realise I was doing it,” Nursey admits.

“Don’t do it,” says Dex. “It’s annoying.”

That jerks a snort out of Nursey, just the familiarity of it, because they’ve always been this way. It’s not like they’re rivals or anything, but their friendship has drifted from mild antagonism to something else, something that’s like friendship but more tentative. More vulnerable.

Nursey clicks his pen multiple times in quick succession, his grin fixed on his face.

Dex rolls his eyes, obviously mildly annoyed, but he doesn’t push it like he used to. He just goes back to his laptop and starts typing again.

“That noise is annoying, too,” Nursey points out. “You tap-tapping away on your computer.”

“That’s stupid,” says Dex. “You have a laptop.”

“I’m in the _zone_ ,” Nursey says, ignoring him. “It’s very distracting.”

“And you clicking your pen isn’t?” Dex counters. Nursey’s grin doesn’t drop from his face. This easy banter, this bouncing on and off one another, this is what makes Nursey feel at home.

“Guys,” Chowder speaks up from the floor where he’s lying among textbooks. “Don’t argue.”

Neither Nursey nor Dex say anything else for a bit. They both know it wasn’t an argument, but they don’t defend themselves.

After half an hour, Chowder leaves them for Farmer, breaking the easy silence they created for studying with bright farewells and hugs and easy grins. Nursey and Dex are left alone.

Nursey runs his hand over his face. His brain is hurting after so long staring at the small print of his novel. He scribbles one more thing in the margin of his current page and sighs before folding over the corner and shutting it.

Dex stretches his legs out to rest on the coffee table and sighs too. It’s a little sigh, a huff of breath, but Nursey can feel it ringing in his ears. This is what Dex is like, he reminds himself - Nursey has to repeat everything he does, everything he says, in his head a hundred times, because that’s all he’s offered.

He likes it. It’s like an analysis.

“It stresses me out that you write in your books,” Dex says, out of the blue and out of character.

“Oh?” Nursey says. “I like it.”

“Clearly,” Dex rolls his eyes, but it’s harmless. “Does it not look messy to you?”

Nursey shrugs. “I like to look back on my thoughts when I reread the book. I like seeing if my thoughts on it have changed over time.”

Dex seems to consider this for a moment, and then nods slightly. “I get that, I guess,” he says. “It still stresses me out a little, though.”

“Are your books all pristine, Poindexter?” Nursey asks. It sounds like a chirp, but Dex doesn’t run with it.

“Yes, actually,” Dex nods, looking away. “I’m very particular about my belongings.”

“Why, though?” Nursey props himself up on his elbows, attention truly pulled now from his novel. “They’re just - y’know, _stuff_.”

“Stuff costs money,” Dex says, and Nursey drops back down onto the couch because this - this is the kind of thing they used to argue about so fiercely. “I don’t have a lot of that.”

Nursey doesn’t reply, because even if he’s never had to think that way, he gets it. He understands.

“Let me see your book,” Dex says. Nursey obliges all too willingly.

Dex runs his finger gently down the spine before opening it and turning to a random page. He studies it, presumably reading what Nursey has written in the margin, and hums softly.

“You have really nice handwriting,” he says absently.

Nursey reminds himself that it’s the sunset that is making his chest seem this tight - except it’s the middle of the day, and the sun is high in the sky, and they’re currently sitting in a bright room, lit through the kitchen and the bay windows.

Dex looks different in this light. He looks curious and studious, bright and awake. Even though Nursey has this image of Dex in his head, soft, orange and hazy, he silently acknowledges that Dex looks perfect in any kind of light. Probably in the dark, too.

“I guess I get where you’re coming from,” Dex says, interrupting Nursey’s train of thought. “My books could be anyone’s. These are - well, _yours_.”

Nursey smiles. “Exactly.”

“Hmm.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna run to your dorm and scribble in all your margins?” Nursey teases, and Dex rolls his eyes again, and that exasperated smile returns.

“Yeah, totally,” he drawls sarcastically, and throws the book back at Nursey’s chest.

Nursey yelps and decides suddenly that he doesn’t trust his body anymore to acknowledge any kind of feelings. It must be broken, because for God’s sake, how is _that_ attractive?

But there’s this thing between them, this unspoken feeling that’s not friendship, really, because his heart doesn’t do this when Chowder smiles at him or when Bitty laughs at one of his dumb jokes.

It’s weird, but then again, they’ve always been weird, Nursey thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

Kegsters are the opposite of Dex, in Nursey’s opinion. The pulsing music, the flashing bright lights, the harsh sounds of a crowd, the downing of slightly warm beer in a hurry.

Nevertheless, Dex seems to enjoy them well enough. Nursey knows that kegsters are his scene; after all, he’s sociable and loud and clumsy and flirty, all this he knows. He loves mixing with new people. He usually loves kegsters, full stop.

This one is a bit different.

That stupid image of Dex is stuck in his brain. He can’t shake the thought of Dex in the kitchen, shaking with laughter, the glow around them matching the colour of his eyes.

It’s dumb, because that isn’t Dex. Nursey knows Dex, and he can be harsh and pointy and rude, sometimes, but those things are easily forgotten.

About halfway through the party, Nursey notices Dex slip out of the front door. Holster offers him another beer, but he declines it and makes his way towards the front door himself. He’s not quite sure why.

The first thing he notices is that this is a different kind of light. It’s mostly dark, but the flashing bright lights from the Haus are visible through the windows. Pink, green, red, white, orange - colours dance over the lawn and the trees, and Dex, who sits underneath one.

“Hey, Poindexter,” Nursey greets, and winces at how his voice slices so harshly though the quiet evening, even with the low bass in the background.

If Dex notices this too, he doesn’t mention it. Instead he looks up at Nursey and pats the ground next to him. Nursey sits down obligingly, and it only strikes him how close they are after it’s too late to move away.

“Hey,” Dex says back. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“You enjoying yourself?” Nursey asks, quieter this time, hyperaware of how loud his voice is and how his shoulder is brushing Dex’s.

Dex shrugs and his shoulder bumps Nursey’s. “I guess so,” he says.

“Don’t sound so convinced there, bud,” Nursey says, picking a blade of grass and continuing to pull it apart. Just for something to focus on. Something that isn’t Dex’s face and these stupid lights.

“Ha,” Dex laughs, but it’s not really a laugh, “it’s not really my scene.”

“Drinking and dancing?” Nursey snorts. “How is that not somebody’s scene?”

He’s expecting an eye roll, but Dex laughs properly this time, a quiet one like the one from the kitchen. “It’s not dancing,” he says. “That’s not _proper_ dancing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nursey says. “How do you dance properly, then?”

Maybe Dex is blushing, but Nursey can’t really tell. He’d like to imagine yes.

“Like, the waltz and stuff,” Dex explains. “That’s proper dancing.”

“As if you can waltz,” Nursey says, disbelieving.

“Wanna fucking bet?” Dex challenges.

Nursey knows how to waltz, certainly, because he went to private school and his parents are disgustingly rich and his mama is on Wall Street, and he’s lost count of the number of tiresome banquets he’s been to.

It’s weird to him that Dex, the person that reminds him of the easy, simple, enjoyable things in life can link so easily into all that.

“I still don’t believe you,” Nursey shakes his head. He’s not sure if he’s telling the truth or just egging him on.

“Fine,” Dex scrambles to his feet, making Nursey jump. “Come on, then,” he says and sticks out his hand.

Nursey can feel his heart pounding painfully in his chest, but he’s not trusting his body any more, remember, and he’s had a couple of beers anyway so it’s probably still wrong.

He takes Dex’s hand and lets himself be hauled to his feet beside him.

Dex takes Nursey’s other hand and holds it aloft. “This is called a closed position,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Nursey doesn’t think to tell him he already knows.

“Step backwards with your right,” he instructs, and Nursey does as he’s told, Dex stepping forward softly with his left.

Nursey is very, very aware of how close they are, how both he and Dex know that there’s meant to be space between waltz partners rather than being pressed close like this, but he doesn’t really care.

“Now left foot back,” Dex says quietly. Nursey obliges and Dex steps his right foot forward.

“Feet together. Now left foot forward...” Dex trails off as Nursey carries on the steps by himself, muscle memory taking over, those years of dance lessons stuck in his brain. Dex doesn’t say anything but he continues, too.

Nursey lets himself, for a second, watch the flashing party lights flicker over Dex’s face, his eyes, his lips - fuck. _Fuck_.

He’s sure Dex can feel his heartbeat. Maybe even hear it, in the quiet. Perhaps it hums along with the bass.

The front door swings open and they jump apart. Nursey’s been drinking, but he still notices the violent red colour rush into Dex’s cheeks.

“What are you two doing out here?” Shitty yells into the street. “It’s cold as shit!”

Nursey notices, then, how each of Dex’s breaths sends a wispy white cloud into the air, and he’s cold. Of course he is. How did he not notice?

“It’s not so bad,” says Dex.

“It’s actually practically tropical,” adds Nursey before shivering, almost comically, but involuntarily.

“Shut up,” Shitty says fondly.

“We’re coming,” says Dex.

Maybe they’ll never talk about it. It might just hang in the air forever, until it dissipates, or until Dex finds it with somebody else that’s able to define it.

That makes Nursey cringe a little inside.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey.”

Nursey doesn’t need to look up to know what expression is on Dex’s face. His tone tells him it’s soft and content and happy.

“Good evening,” Nursey says.

Dex sits down next to him on the sofa.

The light from the bay windows is orange again, and it floods Dex’s face, his freckles dancing on his cheeks and gold shining in his hair. Nursey stares at him for a moment - this is Dex, open and unguarded and safe.

“What?” Dex asks him.

Nursey shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dex levels him with a steady gaze, and the bright amber of his eyes seems to bore into Nursey, but he doesn’t push it.

They discuss random things - the NHL draft, the papers they’re working on, Shitty at Harvard, Jack on the Falconers, Caitlin and Chowder. It feels odd, even for Nursey, because he realises they even though he spends a lot of time with his D-partner, lots of it is spent in silence.

They slip into it eventually, the quiet settling over them as the last of the orange light is cast over the room. Nursey likes these moments.

“Do you ever feel weird?” Dex asks.

Nursey looks up at him. He’s not surprised, he supposes, at the subject change, but nevertheless, it’s not normal Dex conversation.

“I guess,” Nursey replies. “Yeah. Actually, probably all the time.”

Dex huffs his soft laugh again. “Funny.”

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, sitting in companionable silence.

“I think I like boys.”

To give himself credit, Nursey doesn’t choke on his own breath. Instead he levels himself, watching Dex’s face. He doesn’t seem to be stressing out.

“That’s chill,” he says. “Me too.”

“I know,” says Dex.

That’s chill too. It’s never been a secret. He’s brought boys to kegsters before, and Dex is observant. More quiet. More light slipping away.

“I think...” Dex trails off.

Nursey doesn’t push it. He’s not quite sure what to expect. Not with Dex.

“I think I like _you_ ,” Dex says, somehow in an even softer voice than before, vulnerable and tentative - nervous.

“That’s chill, as well,” says Nursey, and Dex rolls his eyes, and it’s the most Dex thing in the whole entire world that Nursey can only lean forward and kiss him.

Kissing Dex is exactly like that mental image in his head. Warm, soft, homely. But it’s also like the ones he’s learnt to see: the bright, open light of the daytime, the flashy, adventurous lights of the kegster.

And Nursey knows Dex.

Dex cooks. He researches into a dish and makes it personal and beautiful and delicious. Dex hates writing in the margins, and he likes his books to be neat, but he likes the scrawl of Nursey’s thoughts on the page. Dex dances the waltz, for fuck’s sake, and he’s good at it.

He’s also good at kissing.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s so dark,” Ransom says when he returns from the library at eleven at night. “Why don’t you turn a light on?”

He flicks on the switch without looking at the room, and it lights up.

On the sofa are Nursey and Dex, lying entwined together like they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Dex is lying on Nursey’s chest, their hands tangled together in a mess of fingers and their feet interlocked.

Ransom snorts and turns off the light.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [omgpoindexter](%E2%80%9Comgpoindexter.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) on tumblr  
>  <3


End file.
